


Delivery

by fortheloveoflestrade



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: AU, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, i wrote the first piece of this ages ago and suddenly decided I needed to finish it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveoflestrade/pseuds/fortheloveoflestrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from tumblr: "you’re the only delivery person who gets to my house in any semblance of the word fast which is why i keep requesting you but you don’t believe me and tease me constantly about it” au</p>
<p>I took some liberties (with the au prompt, not necessarily with the characters).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delivery

It came to Arthur all at once, that he’d finally hit on that point he’d been trying to articulate in his thesis, and that he was going to be up all night writing. Half of it wouldn’t end up in his final draft, but the other half would be pure gold. 

So he started an audio file on his phone, talking at it while he started a pot of coffee, while he cleared his desk and set up his laptop. Then he switched to note-taking on his laptop while he dialed his favorite Indian place.

As he typed he spoke to the voice on the other end of the phone. He gave them his usual order, chicken tikka masala with rice and naan bread. He gave his address, confirmed he’d be paying with cash. “And if you could get it here as soon as possible, that’d be great. Thanks.”

He kept typing.

He’d gotten out a few hundred words when the buzzer rang.

He gathered up his phone, starting another recording and talking while he buzzed up the delivery guy. He went to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, threw a dash of sugar in. Then he heard the knock at the door. 

He was still recording when he opened the door and he stopped, mid-thought. 

Holding his dinner was a guy. Young, like him, maybe a few years older, with a stubble so casual you could tell he purposefully didn’t shave. He had a cap on, and when he looked up his grey eyes were intent on Arthur. 

Arthur stood there, staring, holding his phone while it recorded his awkwardness. “That was fast.”

The man grins. “That’ll be fifteen even, darling,” he says.

Arthur nods, then remembers he left the cash on the counter next to his coffee. “Sorry, hold on,” he says, leaving the door open while he ran into the kitchen.

He takes a moment there at the counter to regain his composure, then returns to the delivery guy.

The man has his head in the door, looking around at the apartment beyond. He sees Arthur returning and takes a half-step back—“Nice flat, mate.”

“Thanks,” Arthur replies politely. He hands the delivery guy a twenty. “Keep the change,” he says.

“Ta,” he says, scanning Arthur once more before tucking the money in his pocket and walking away.

Arthur lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and closes the door.

—

Arthur’s next run-in with this delivery Adonis is nearly two weeks later, when he’s staring one hundred and fifteen literature exams in the face. His T.A. gig was usually not too daunting, but midterms just finished and now after studying for his own tests, he has to get started on his grading. 

He dials the take-out, asks for his usual, and an extra Chai to motivate him. “And if it’s not too much trouble, send your fastest delivery guy.”

The man on the end of the line laughs.

“What?” Arthur asks.

“You’re asking for Eames, right? British?”

Arthur blushes suddenly, realizing he’s caught. He hadn’t been banking on the guy, but he had been hoping. He clears his throat, “Um, just whoever, thanks.” He gets his order confirmed and quickly hangs up. 

To distract himself from his embarrassment, he starts a pot of coffee and gets all his materials at his desk: papers to be graded, teacher’s notes, and red pens.

Arthur loves red pens. Really, one of his favorite things about being a T.A. is getting to use his red pens in an official capacity. As much as Arthur loves a beautiful, fresh copy of a paper, he is also extremely fond of one when he is finished marking it up, knowing he’s pulled out every single detail he needs to and given it his attention.

It’s not long before the buzzer alerts him to the door. Suddenly, his heart is in his stomach and he secretly wishes there is another, very quick, delivery guy working for the restaurant. He’d rather not face this “Eames” guy, if that was his name, after being called out by the guy who took his order. 

He pushes the call button, praying the voice that comes through is anything other than European. “Hello?” he asks.

“Delivery for Arthur,” the box croons, and Arthur’s heartbeat picks up.

He doesn’t have the strength to say anything else, so he just hits the buzzer.

He walks himself to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee, trying to calm his nerves. _It’s just a guy,_ he thinks, _a very cute guy. With an accent. No, stop that. He’s human. Just like you._

He hears the knock on the door, quick like his pulse. He picks up his coffee for strength, checks for the money in his pocket, and turns to go answer the door.

“Fancy running into you here,” the man says as Arthur opens the door. 

“At my own apartment?” Arthur asks, trying not to smile. 

The man, Eames, holds out his plastic bag of food with one hand and a styrofoam cup with the other, propped up in the doorway. No hat this time, but his hair is slicked back with a little gel and still looking as handsome as Arthur remembers. 

Arthur looks at the cup of coffee in his hand, realizing that bringing it to the door was probably not the best idea.

Eames looks from him to the mug and back to him. “I’ve got it, love,” he shrugs, walking right over Arthur’s threshold and into his sitting room. Arthur is stunned, by both the entrance and the endearment, and struggles to catch up after Eames.

“Heard you needed this right away,” Eames teases. “Right here okay?” he asks, already placing them down on Arthur’s coffee table. He’s even so gracious as to put a coaster underneath the Chai. 

“Um, yeah. Thanks,” Arthur fumbles, also putting down his coffee onto the table and digging into his pocket.

“Fifteen even,” Eames smiles.

“But the chai is extra?” Arthur queries.

“On the house, darling.” This man looks too comfortable in Arthur’s apartment. The only way he could look more comfortable would be if he were to just take a seat on the couch. Arthur prays he doesn’t.

“Well,” Arthur sighs, “here’s twenty. Keep the change.”

“Ta,” Eames says, just like he did last time. He tucks it into his pocket.

Eames doesn’t move, and the two of them stand there awkwardly for a moment. Well, Arthur stands there awkwardly trying to not look at Eames, and Eames stares him down, smirking the whole time. 

“Um, thanks,” Arthur says, hoping this will prompt the man to leave.

“Not a problem.” Eames takes the hint and heads toward the door. “See you around, Arthur.”

Eames closes the door behind himself and Arthur is left in his sitting room, unnerved, quite flushed, and not at all thinking about grading.

—

Over a month later, when Arthur’s nearly forgotten all about Eames, he’s having a couple beers with Dom in his apartment when they decide to order some food.

While Dom’s flipping through channels looking for something acceptable to have on in the background while they shoot the shit, Arthur calls.

He is surprised when Eames is on the other end of the line. “India House, what can I get you?”

“Um,” he hesitates. Dom looks up at him from the couch.

“Ah, hello Arthur,” Eames says over the line. How he could tell it was Arthur he doesn’t want to know.

After clearing his throat, he spits out a double order of chicken tikka and some extra naan.

“No problem, darling. Be there in a mo’.” Eames hangs up on him.

“You okay?” Dom asks.

Arthur takes a breath. “Yeah, on it’s way,” he says. He clears the empty bottles on the coffee table and goes to the kitchen to get another round.

Arthur is distracted while they wait, with Dom talking at him and him half-listening, half-not watching the television, half-worrying about Eames showing up at his door again.

“Arthur?” Dom asks. “You there?”

Arthur turns to him. “Yeah.”

“You spaced out there for a sec.”

“Sorry. What did you say?”

“I’m gonna ask Mal to marry me.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. “Shit, Dom.”

Dom smiles nervously. “Yeah, I know. I’m terrified.”

“Why?”

“Well, what if she says no?”

Arthur scoffs. “She’s not going to say no.”

“How do you know?”

“She just won’t,” Arthur states. “Trust me, you two have been inseparable for the past two years. I would know, because for the last two years I can count on one hand the number of times it’s been just you and me, and no Mal. I’m not complaining, I love Mal, but you guys are practically married already. This is just making it legal, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yeah?” Dom asks, grinning now.

“She’s not going to say no,” Arthur repeats.

The buzzer sound for the door.

“Shit, there’s our food,” Dom says.

Arthur tenses up. Dom sees.

“You good?

Arthur shakes his head clear, nods. Dom gives him a look, but shrugs it off, pulling from his beer.

Arthur also takes a drink and then goes to the comm and hits the buzzer. No talking this time, better to get this done as fast as possible so that Arthur can avoid embarrassment and, more importantly, Eames intense gaze.

Dom opens the door when the knock comes and Arthur hangs back.

“Oh, hello. And who might you be?” he hears the smooth accent ask.

“Hey, thanks for getting here so quick, man. I’m Dom.” He takes the food from Eames and moves it to the sitting room. Arthur steps forward, into the view of the door.

“Eames,” he replies. “Arthur, is this your boyfriend?”

Arthur coughs, takes a drink. “No, just a friend.”

“Who’s about to be engaged,” Dom adds, smiling. 

“Ah, cheers, mate!” Eames tells him, then turning back to Arthur with a look.

Arthur’s face warms, and he wills the redness to stay back. He pulls two twenties and hands them to Eames. “Thanks, again.”

“No trouble, love. It is my job,” he smirks.

Arthur smiles, just a little. He’s a few beers in, and it makes him not-as-nervous. 

Eames’ eyebrows lift. “That’s a new one,” he says quietly. Eames looks back down to the money in his hand. “Ah, change?”

“Keep it,” Arthur says. 

“Ta, darling. See you around,” he smiles. “Cheers, Dom!”

“Thanks, Eames!”

The door closes and Arthur takes a deep breath, turning back to Dom unwrapping their meals. 

“Oh, no wonder you wanted Indian,” Dom smirks.

“Shut up,” Arthur snaps. “You wanted it, too.”

“No need to get defensive, Art! It’s just that even a child could’ve seen he was flirting with you.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Arthur denies, taking another drink.

Dom rolls his eyes. “He called you darling.”

“It’s a European thing.”

“No, it’s not. You know it’s not. And even if it was, that was not just a ‘European thing’.”

Arthur clenches his fists. “Let’s eat,” he says, sitting back down on the couch.

—

After Dom pestered him on and off for the rest of the night, Arthur decided it was time to take a step back from India House. And Eames. He needed to focus on school, not some delivery guy. Plus, it’s not like anything was ever going to happen. He didn’t need the extra anxiety, on top of his classes, his T.A. work, and his thesis.

He avoids it for almost six weeks, but after a particularly stressful day of classes and failing to make any progress on his thesis, Arthur decides he wants the night off of cooking dinner. He figures he won’t run into Eames if he goes and picks up his order, so he calls it in for pick up. It’s on his way home from the library, and he figures it’s the easiest choice.

He arrives ten minutes later, and tells the person at the front of house that he’s picking up an order. She tells him it will be another ten minutes, and invites him to sit down in the restaurant while he waits.

It’s nearly empty, with one couple over in the corner and a business man on the other side talking on his phone in another language. Arthur thinks it’s Hindi, but that’s not one he’s mastered yet so he can’t be sure.

He sits near the front and pulls out some of his notes, trying to get through a particular snag in a particular paragraph. 

He’s only managed to write, scratch out, and rewrite one piece of text before someone emerges from the kitchen with a bag of food to go. He keeps his gaze on his page, feeling like he’s just moments away from a fix, but is then interrupted.

“I believe this is for you, love,” the voice says.

Arthur sighs. He looks up and sees Eames, grinning, holding his food. 

“I can’t escape you, can I?” Arthur says, putting down his notes.

“Now, why would you want to do that?” Eames asks, sliding into the chair across from Arthur, placing his food on the table.

“Nothing,” Arthur says, realizing his mistake. “Nevermind.”

Eames hmphs at him and looks down at his notes. “What’s this?” he asks, picking up the pad of paper. “Shakespeare?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says. “My thesis.”

_“Oh, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in ’t!”_ Eames recites.

“Wow. That was good,” Arthur says, trying not to blush. 

“The accent helps,” Eames says, grinning.

Arthur nods, takes back his notes when Eames hands them to him, and starts getting up to leave.

“Not staying?”

Arthur shakes his head. “I need a night in,” he sighs. 

Eames nods, looking a little disappointed.

Arthur’s heart flutters. He takes a deep breath. “Are you working?”

Eames looks up, eyebrow quirked. “For another couple of hours. Why do you ask?”

_No going back now._ “Come over for a beer. After your shift.”

Eames smirks, and Arthur thinks he can see a little color in his cheeks.

“If you want to, of course,” Arthur adds quickly.

“Alright, darling. Maybe I will.”

Arthur gives him a small smile, picks up his bag and his food, and leaves before he or Eames can change their mind.

—

When Arthur gets to his apartment, he is so nervous he’s shaking. He puts down his food in the kitchen, hangs up his coat, and puts his bag over by his desk. He sits down on his couch, wiping his hands on his legs, trying to stop them from shaking. 

_I can’t believe I did that,_ he thinks. _I don’t even know this guy!_

Before he has time to chastise himself more, the buzzer rings.

Arthur stands and hits the comm box. “Hello?”

“Delivery for Arthur.”

Arthur’s heart jumps from his stomach to his throat. He pushes the buzzer.

He stands frozen by the comm box, until he hears the distant, rushed steps on the stairs in the hall. He goes for the door. 

When he pulls it open, Eames’ hand is up as if to knock, his breathing a tad ragged. As if he ran. He looks at Arthur.

“I thought you said—?”

Eames takes a step toward him, into his space. “I’m the quickest delivery in the city,” he says, “I couldn’t leave you waiting.”

Arthur can feel Eames’ smirk against his lips, and his gentle stubble against his cheek, and is suddenly very thankful for Eames’ work ethic.


End file.
